The Bird and the Dog
by khaleesiofmischief
Summary: Her husband is off to another brothel, but there is someone else hiding in the shadows of her room, kneeling next to her bed. Someone who can take her life or rock her world...


The Bird and the Dog

Sansa Stark looked at the place where her husband was supposed to be lying. He was not there, though. She was the only one in the bed, as Tyrion Lannister had run off to a brothel, for he could not yet bed Sansa.

He would never bed her. He had said that he would bed her when she wanted him to. But she would never want that. Although he had been nice to her, she would never want him.

It wasn't just that he was a dwarf and ugly. She had agreed to marry Ser Willas, who was not like his brother Ser Loras and only had one leg. She just couldn't find anything beautiful on the Imp.

It would be easier if he felt the same way as Sansa. He was supposed to not like their marriage either, but when she undressed, his manhood had betrayed him. He _wanted_ her. And that made her sick.

She was a wolf married to a lion. And that was wrong. Her dear father , Lord Eddard Stark, had died because of the Lannisters. And then Joffrey had made her look at her father's head on a spike.

That same boy, the one she had once loved but fortunately hadn't married after all, wanted her as his whore. He had touched her breast during her wedding ceremony. He had kissed her as they were dancing.

At least her kiss with the Imp had been brief.

She had kissed the Hound as well. She still remembered that. His mouth had not twitched at all. His kiss hadn't been so moist and wet and disgusting as Joffrey's.

She didn't know where Sandor Clegane was now. Part of her wished he was still at King's Landing. Frightening though the Hound was, he was her savior. He had helped and saved Sansa more than once.

Where was he now? Was he alive?

As she rolled to the other side, she was thinking of him. And then she saw a man, but he immediately covered her mouth with his palm before she could scream.

The hand was warm and rough, and the face was familiar. She relaxed when she realized who he was, and he removed his hand.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, was right there. He was kneeling next to her bed, his eyes locked with Sansa's. And this time it wasn't his face that scared her. It was the eye-contact. His eyes were so honest and so intently focused on her that she felt like he could see inside her very soul.

A tiny ray of hope slowly made its way among the dark clouds of her black sky. She had reason to hope again. The Hound would take her home as he had offered before leaving. He would keep her safe as he had promised. He was there to save her once again.

"Hello, little bird", he said in a hoarse voice, making her shiver.

Slowly, she sat up. Part of her couldn't believe that he was truly there, with her. _For_ her. He had defied the King, he had left. He was free. Why had he returned? To set Sansa free as well?

"Ser –"

Don't you call me _ser_. I'm Sandor Clegane, also known as the Hound. Some call me _dog_. You choose."

"Sandor, wh-what are you doing here?"

She liked calling him by his name. It sounded rather nice. She couldn't call him _dog_. Joffrey called him that. She didn't act like Joffrey. And _dog_ didn't sound nice. Especially for her savior.

"The real question is, what's _he_ doing here?" Sandor asked, jerking his thumb at the empty space of the bed that Tyrion occupied when he didn't pay a visit to his whores.

"Tyrion Lannister is my lord husband", she replied. She had said so many terrible things for the Lannisters, for her survival, like _I love Joffrey with all my heart_. This one, unfortunately, was true.

"What was it like, losing your maidenhood to the Imp?"

Sandor seemed to be rather enjoying this. She expected him to laugh soon. And that would only make her cry. Again. Sansa kept crying when no one was around. She had lost all her family –either distance or death had taken them. She was married to the Imp, who would take her father's inheritance if her dear brother Robb and Sansa herself died. She had escaped marriage to Joffrey, but he would still have her whenever he wanted.

And now her savior was back, but he was making fun of her misery.

"I…we have not…"

"The dwarf hasn't fucked you yet? That's a surprise! He has fucked almost every whore there is!"

Sansa felt angry and ashamed. She had expected the Hound to save her, but he was there to laugh at her. And Sansa hated him for that. When Joffrey had forced her to look at her father's head and had had her slapped, the Hound had wiped the blood from her face with a handkerchief, he had been understanding. He had been the only one who didn't like the fact that she was being beaten bloody. He had draped her shoulders with a cloak to cover her nakedness and provide her with warmth. He had offered to take her home. So, why couldn't he be nice to her now? What had she ever done to him?

He covered her cold hand with his big one. She didn't flinch or pull back. She didn't move at all. His hand was warm and reassuring. It was proof that the Hound was a better man than what everyone thought him to be.

"I'm sorry, little bird", he said softly and in all honesty. "When you look like me, you have to mock people and laugh at their lives."

In the darkness of the chamber, Sansa could not perfectly see his face. She didn't have to, though. She remembered all too well. One side of his face was burned, the flesh scarred beyond recovery. His mouth often twitched. The sight, in combination with his strength and skill, could frighten even the bravest men. It frightened Sansa also, even though the Hound was the only one who had ever seemed to care about her. At least, he had never hurt her.

"You are a good man, Sandor", she confessed. This was not fake courtesy or a false compliment. She meant it, and the Hound deserved to know. She was certain that he did not hear that often.

He smiled, something that surprised Sansa. She did not remember seeing him like that. But it was real; a smile had paid a visit to Sandor Clegane's lips, and it didn't seem willing to go away just yet. And Sansa was glad. The smile made the Hound look younger, almost innocent.

"How nice of you, little bird. Perhaps you'll sing another song for me?"

_No_, she thought. _Take me home , and then I'll sing for you as many songs as you want…_

"If it please you"

All of a sudden, his smile was gone. She could feel cold coming out of him and crawling over her skin. His hand left hers. The walls of the chamber seemed to be closing in around her. The darkness of the room seemed darker still. Yet she had no idea what she had done. Would he threaten to kill her again if she didn't sing a song?

"I am no Joffrey to be spoken to like that", he said coldly. "House Clegane was built with blood and death. We are no noble men. We kill and enjoy it. We use your fucking papers of truce and peace terms to wipe our arses. Do you understand?"

If she could move farther away from him, she would have done so. But she couldn't slip through the wall. She could only stay rooted to the spot where she was. She could only avoid his eyes and nod. She could only pray that he wouldn't hurt her.

"Look at me." It sounded like an order.

She tried, but this time it was harder than ever. She was scared, afraid of him. She was afraid he might harm her. She hated herself for being weak. Her sister would have reacted. Not that night, but long ago. She wouldn't have let all this happen to her. She would have been brave. She would have been able to look deep into the Hound's eyes, perhaps even spit at his face. Sansa, however, managed to look at him for a few heartbeats before lowering her gaze once more.

"Look at me", he repeated in a whisper. This time, he did not wait for her to try to do as she was told. He put one finger under her chin, lifting her face. She wished the Imp was with her; he wouldn't be able to defeat the Hound all by himself, but he had his men.

"Sing for me, little bird", he told her. "Sing for me, and I won't harm you."

He wanted another song from her. Just like the night he had come to her room. The night he had left. She had kept his cloak, but she still didn't know why.

She couldn't sing the same song again. Not something romantic either, although she had promised him Florian and Jonquil. So, she sang this:

_The Father's face is stern and strong,_

_he sits and judges right from wrong_

_He weighs our lives, the short and long,_

_and loves the little children._

_The Mother gives the gift of life,_

_and watches over every wife._

_Her gentle smile ends all strife,_

_and she loves her little children._

_The Warrior stands before the foe,_

_protecting us where e'er we go._

_With sword and shield and spear and bow,_

_he guards the little children._

_The Crone is very wise and old,_

_and sees our fates as they unfold._

_She lifts her lamp of shining gold,_

_to lead the little children._

_The Smith, he labors day and night,_

_to put the world of men to right,_

_With hammer, plow, and fire bright,_

_he builds for little children._

_The Maiden dances through the sky,_

_she lives in every lover's sigh,_

_Her smiles teach the birds to fly,_

_and give dreams to little children._

_The Seven Gods who made us all,_

_are listening if we should call._

_So close your eyes, you shall not fall,_

_they see you, little children,_

_Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,_

_they see you, little children._

Somehow, the song made her feel better. She hadn't sung or heard a song for quite some time, and she loved songs. She also hoped that the Seven Gods were indeed listening when people called.

"You have a lovely voice, but you are no little child", the Hound said, grinning.

Sansa knew what he was talking about. She had flowered. And she had caught quite a few men looking at her breasts. Sandor, however, was not looking there. His eyes had never left hers that night.

Her hand moved on its own accord, it seemed. It approached Sandor's face and touched it lightly. This time he didn't react as that last night, when she had cupped his cheek. He pulled back, but she didn't. For some reason, unbeknownst even to her, she wasn't afraid.

Sandor let her touch him. Her fingertips felt the burnt flesh. It was wild and rough, but not really unpleasant to the touch. Sansa got used to the sensation almost immediately and began to stroke his cheek. She thought that Sandor held his breath, but she wasn't sure. His eyes were closed, that was certain.

When Sandor opened his eyes, he took her hand in his. Slowly, hesitantly it seemed, he leaned in to her. Still, she didn't pull back. Her eyes never left his. Her hand found shelter in his. And she knew what would happen next.

As she had expected, their lips met. It was just a soft, gentle and rather brief lip-lock, but it was the best that she had ever had. And she wanted more. Much more.

Sandor looked at her for a moment and kissed her again. This time it was much longer and passionate. A man's kiss. Sansa parted her lips without really realizing what she was doing. The Hound's tongue was warm and wet, discovering and tasting every corner of her mouth.

When they needed to breathe, Sandor broke the kiss. Sansa, however, was so hungry for him. She had never felt like this before. Her heart was beating so fast, like some crazy beast in her rib cage. Sansa also felt a little wet between her legs, which was something rather new. Good new.

The next time Sandor kissed her, he put one hand on the back of her head and one on her waist, pulling her closer to him. Her movements were so confident that it seemed that her instinct was guiding her. She flung her arms around his shoulders, and her tongue danced with his in a battle for dominance. She moaned inside his mouth twice or thrice, and she thought that he did so as well once.

Slowly, the hand on her waist started to move. First, it felt her flat belly, then it moved lower still, teasing her from her smallclothes. Sansa whimpered inside his mouth; she had never been touched like this before. This time she was sure that he moaned when he felt how wet she was for him.

His lips trailed lower, focusing on the soft, porcelain skin of her neck. As he started sucking, his fingers slipped inside her smallclothes and found her most sensitive area. Sansa could never have believed that the Hound's touch was so warm and soft and that even his simplest of movements would give her so much pleasure.

When he inserted a finger inside her, she almost came. She had always dreamt that her first lover would be someone as beautiful and graceful as Ser Loras. Sandor Clegane was not like that, but he was brave and skillful, honest and misunderstood like her lord father. He was never nothing but a dog to Joffrey, but Joffrey was a blind fool. Sansa had seen what hid beneath the Hound's mask. Besides, as he had said once, a hound would die for you but would never lie to you.

At that moment, she got scared again. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to pleasure him the way he did her. He wouldn't want her then. She couldn't really blame him.

"It's alright. I want you, little bird", he whispered in her ear as if he could read her thoughts. She didn't care how he knew the way she felt. She was just glad that he wanted her. So, her eyelids closed and she surrendered to him completely…

And then she heard it. It was fain at first, but then it grew louder and louder. She could hear it right next to her. Someone snoring. Someone ruining a very personal and beautiful moment.

The annoying noise grew louder still, and now she could barely feel Sandor. It was like he was slipping away from her. It was like she was once again falling in her vast abyss. The Hound was leaving his little bird.

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she found herself lying in the very same bed. Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, the dwarf, the monster, the demon monkey, the previous Hand of the King and the new master of coin, her husband, was lying next to her, snoring.

The dream was gone beyond recovery, but Sansa thought that she could feel the Hound's hand between her thighs for a moment. But he was gone. He had left her as well.

Some part of her felt ashamed of what she had dreamt. In truth, that was only a small part. The rest of her had enjoyed the dream. It had felt so unbelievably real. And it had left her missing the Hound.

She let out a sigh and wondered, "Where are you, my brave dog?"


End file.
